


russias greatest love machine

by ruruka



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M, drunk lawlight play just dance 2.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-19 22:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19981780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruruka/pseuds/ruruka
Summary: and just for good measure. imagine them as this one too.





	russias greatest love machine

All roads lead to Rome.

All stupid ones lead to Matsuda.

“Okay, okay, so,” stumbles from his mouth, because he’s never once drank anyone else under any sort of table though does solidly attempt, and he’s laughing all the way to feeding the disc into the console slot. “So, it’s like DDR, except you just follow the little person on the screen and dance along with their movements, holding these controllers, and stuff. It’s fun.”

For once in their lives, Light and L seem to agree on something as they aim their dull stares forward.

“And you want us to play...becaaause…” vibrates from L’s lips as they take toward his solo cup midsentence, an echo up the nose as he sips.

“I think my fifteen year old sister plays this game,” Light comments. His slacks stay fresh ironed in the fold of legs. He’s a prince even half a cup of vodka deep. 

Between their paired perch on the sofa serves only the coffee table as a barrier, littered across its surface in cups and glass blown bottles remaining only with drips. Light can hardly bear to look at such a mess, making him only so thankful the... _boys' night,_ as Matsuda had deemed _this_ whilst begging for it- he’s glad they aren’t at his place, or else he’d have no longer a pulse to see his furniture treated so brusquely. And he’s glad Matsuda’s grandmother isn’t home to slap the smarts into him.

Perhaps he could use it, standing there as the television loads up behind him now, beckoning them in a wave. The tuck of his shirt’s been ruined since seven:thirty. Being nine now, Light would rather sleep off the three sips of booze, but so long as L has a mouth and freewill, he’ll never get his way, and whatever sort of peer pressure attempted on him as L stalks over to grasp a remote...works.

“Okay, okay,” Matsuda starts again, throws a hand to his forehead as another thick laugh breaks him. “Here you go, Light. Oh-! Hey, you know what would make this more interesting, if you made it, like, beer pong style.” Two leers pinned toward him work his fingers spinning. “You know, like, whoever gets the lower score has to drink a cup of vodka.”

“Come on now,” L murmurs, shaking lightly a tut of the head. “We don’t want Light to end up with alcohol poisoning.”

“Funny,” Light snaps back in a sneer as he fits the controller strap onto his wrist. A glance upward meets L’s glinting eye. “If you really think I’m going to lose, then why not accept the game? Since you’re so confident.”

Beneath the meager lamplight, L tilts his jaw against a half breathed laugh, craning forward an arm to select through the menu of song titles. Light wastes not a moment gearing himself into preparation. Not that he needs it- L doesn’t even move out of his bed some days. 

Side by side, two dancers fade onto the screen.

_Jitterbug._

Seconds cannot fit through the cracks before Light is tossing himself in perfect tandem to the beat. Of course L would pick fucking Wham.

“Wow, you guys are actually pretty good at this!” Matsuda cheerleads from behind them, though the intensity of Light’s gaze does not leave the routine before him, not until he’s flicking every so often a vague glance for his dance partner. L swings his body as if it were made of thin air. For someone with no discernible hips, he most certainly can swing them.

Time does not exist the whole way, his every movement pristine, untouchable, all the way to the closing note. Silence pounds in his ears alongside the pulse of breaths caught.

When a hum paints L’s throat, Light knows he’s made the very first error of his life.

“Drink up, Player 2.” 

Parting their melded shoulders, Matsuda sloshes a cup toward him, one Light clutches in the hesitation of a hammering temper.

“You only did better because you got to pick the song,” he insists with a long chug backward. The cup sets to the table. Sting in his eyes ignored, he stretches both arms over his chest, takes forth to select the next dance.

Drum beats drag their arms in sync, the electric swing of guitar notes fitting beside it.

“Hah, what is this, Blondie?” Behind, the breathless quality of Matsuda’s voice suggests he’s playing their inebriated little mess of a background dancer. “You guys and your 80’s music, _jeez_.”

They whip themselves into twin implosions as the chorus builds and fades again. Nothing exists but the ringing thrum of his accuracy.

After his second cup of vodka, Light decides his top buttons are hindering his performance, and he’s undoing them down to the top of his chest as he scoffs, “What the hell is that song? I don’t know it.”

Selection made, L turns to face him if only to nod, “You’ll know it.”

He squints beyond the pinching pain in his temples, quick to focus once L begins his first thrashing motion. _HEY HEY, YOU YOU, I DON’T LIKE YOUR GIRLFRIEND._

“Oh, _please,_ Ryuzaki,” he snorts, following the character on the screen to a T. The notion keeps him smirking all through the first verses, jerking his arms in swift, flawless motions, legs and hips and delectable waist all flowing together into grace.

By the time they’re halfway through _Hey Ya,_ Light could set the whole apartment ablaze with one blown breath, and L, well, L had lost his winning streak somewhere in the middle of it all, a victory Light had taken with a toss of his hands high and a jeered laugh right in the other’s face. _Didn’t you say you were part Russian? And you couldn’t even do Rasputin?! HAH!_ Something like that. At his next failure, L had had to pour his own drink, turning themselves to find Matsuda face down in the couch cushions and, yes, definitely breathing, once they’d checked. 

_“Alright, alright, alright, alright, alright-!”_ they call in time to one another, English as crisp as their thrashing forms. Light shakes it like the best goddamn Polaroid picture there ever was. 

“One more,” L says after its end. He perches himself on a clear portion of the coffee table, fumbling with the neck of the bottle to brim his cup as Light flags the sweat from beneath his shirt. “You’re gonna be fucking sorry.”

Hands grip Light’s knees at the threat, bent forward in a wicked cough of laughter before he’s back at peak performance. A circling finger rushes L along in his sips, and just as soon as the cup echoes in a set on the table, they’re beside one another again, wrist flared forward to place the final song into motion. 

“Oh, fuck yes,” Light endorses of L’s choice, clipping sans fault into the moves and lyrics as they pour on screen. “ _Baby, can’t you see? I’m calling-_ ”

His hips jerk violently against the music. He watches L mirror him, a firework show of convulsions; Light’s almost certain bumping into one another so many times could lower his score, but, jeez, huh, what’s the score matter when he feels like such a God up there on the proverbial stage that is life?

_“Too high, can’t come DOW-wn.”_ Hardly can he make out his own gasping slurs beneath the rattle of L’s beside him. _“Losing my- hn- something, something, na na naaa- Do you feel me now?”_

As if set to this by fate itself, their voices crash together without a hitch- _“WITH THE TASTE OF YOUR LIPS, I’M ON A RIDE-!”_

Light loses sight of the virtual instructions part way through their shared crescendo, watching instead the gyrations of L’s chest forward, back, forward, all shoulders and hips in the melted butter melody. At whatever point, because _whatever,_ he finds he’s trembled so close as to stumble on his own steps, a clutch of hands upon the other’s shirt proving his anchor. The music claps on behind them, Light clambering himself up from almost knees as he gushes in humor over... _whatever_. His brain sways just as much as his muscles. _“You’re toxic, I’m sli-”_

“You fucked me up,” L continues, harboring still his natural English in a prowl toward Light, who, in a blink, is _just_ able to dodge the fist thrown for his jaw.

“Ryuzaki, what the- what the hell’s your _problem?!”_ The naughty flight attendant remains unfazed in her dance on screen, though they her witnesses turn instead for one another, a harsh clap of a palm across his face landing like thunder. Light does not hesitate to battle him back, does not hesitate to claim him by the shirt collar and lift knuckles between. 

The armchair behind them careens once his weight is thrown so heavily for it, L pouncing atop him in the same second of flaring hands and whipping knees for each another.

Matsuda _snurks_ an inhale in his sleep.

The music continues.

Boys' night.

**Author's Note:**

> [and just for good measure. imagine them as this one too.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1AXyVDB5PkI)


End file.
